


Long Away

by whitequeen (dogmx)



Category: Queen (Band)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Feels, Anxiety, Anxiety Attacks, Everyone Is Gay, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Homophobia, How Do I Tag, Hurt/Comfort, I'm Bad At Summaries, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, No band, Self-Harm, Self-Hatred, You Decide, freddie and john are angels, modern setting or 70s, not that much fluff tho, roger is soft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-22
Updated: 2019-02-22
Packaged: 2019-11-03 16:50:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,880
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17881556
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dogmx/pseuds/whitequeen
Summary: Brian was tired. In fact, it was much more than that: he was exhausted. He had had trouble sleeping since he knew himself, but in the last weeks it had all gotten worse. Brian knew exactly what was happening, but he did not dare admit it.





	Long Away

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so this is my first work here and my first Maylor work. I'm so sorry it's something sad.  
> Oh, and big, huge, trigger warning: I put some harmful thoughts, and mentioned suicide, self-harm and anxiety and homophobia. So if you get triggeref by these things, I suggest you read with caution.  
> Also: english is not my first language, so pardon me for any unseen mistakes.

Brian was tired. In fact, it was much more than that: he was exhausted. He had had trouble sleeping since he knew himself, but in the last weeks it had all gotten worse: as soon as he lay down on the bed, he felt a weight on his chest — as if it was trying to break his bones — and then his breathing became fast and shallow, his limbs seemed larger than they really were — it was a ghostly sensation, as if he were being stretched tightly for his body to shatter; his mouth was dry, and then his eyes burned from the tears that kept coming down, even though there was no reason to cry; his head hurt — as if he had hit the wall - and he could not control his thoughts. Brian knew exactly what was happening, but he did not dare admit it.

In the morning everything seemed to be a hangover: deep circles under his eyes, sluggishness, headache, dizziness and nausea. And hearing the yelling of his friends was no help at all. Brian shared his apartment with two friends, Freddie — a clumsy illustrator — and Roger — an independent designer, as he liked being called (a way of saying he was unemployed). It was a great way to save money, since his salary as a journalist was not enough to afford an apartment downtown. He went into the kitchen and began to make coffee. It would be a long day.

He was about to drink a large cup of black coffee when Roger appeared out of nowhere with a red face full of rage. He was a man who lost his temper very easily, and the best way to avoid talking wrong things was to get away from fighting — especially when he was fighting with his friends. Roger had not realized Brian was in the room until he heard a hiss. He raised his eyes and immediately his lips curved into a smile, and then he laughed when he realized that his friend had knocked coffee in his white robe.

— You should pay more attention. — He sat in one of the chairs. — You’re going to burn yourself. — He spoke with genuine concern.

Brian, however, did not notice his tone or what he had said. He felt his stomach twist, and then he began to shake lightly, his head throbbing slightly and he had the impression that his body was on fire; something raced down his throat and kept him from breathing, his mind thought of dozens of plausible motifs and hundreds of terrible scenarios that would probably never happen, and because of that he began to panic. What if he was dying? What if the sleepless nights were a prelude to his end? What if, and if, and if? He dropped the cup on the floor and ran into the bathroom, his ears burned and blood flowed fast in his veins, his heart was racing and the tum-tum-tum-squash-squash was the only thing he could hear clearly, the rest was just a strange noise, a mixture of wind, footsteps and desperate shouts.

He held himself in the sink because he could not stand the weight of his body any more, his legs trembled and his eyes burned. His throat seemed to burn. He fell to the ground and began to cry and gasp, trying to inhale as much air as possible, but his chest ached and looked like it was going to explode every time he took a deep breath. It left him sitting on the cold floor, crying and desperate — _I'm going to stop breathing, I cannot breathe, I'm not breathing_. Everything around him seemed like a figure, he could not see right. He barely felt another body enveloping his, two small hands running down his back and lips kissing his forehead.

— Brian, I'm here. You're here, you're safe. What's the problem? — He walked away gently so he could look his friend in the eye, and then Brian realized what was wrong. — It's okay if you do not want to talk, but I'll be here for you. — The words, however sweet they were, did not soothe him, and what he said after only broke his heart: — You are my best friend, and I love you.

∞∞∞∞∞

Brian had to call his job and say he was not well — of course he did not say he had a panic attack at seven o'clock on a Friday morning, but his voice was strange enough for them to notice — and was relieved upon hearing his boss say that everything was fine, he could take the day off. After calming down, Brian decided he did not have the strength to do anything else, so he decided to lie in bed. Thinking and thinking and thinking a little more.

About how Roger's hair was long, reaching up to the shoulders, and stick to his forehead because of sweat; about how his lips were half open and red; how his blue eyes looked at him as if he were the most precious thing in the universe; how his voice could do things with him. And then on how wrong, _wrong_ , it was thinking of your best friend that way. How _wrong_ it was to think of men like that. Brian was just enjoying the beauty of another human being and it was nothing related to his sexuality, only that it was, and he would not want to be touched romantically by any woman.

And then he decided it was just a stupid conclusion, it was all a result of a stressful month and years of loneliness because he did not have time for a girlfriend. Except that he definitely remembered passing his phone number to one of his college classmates at a party after he drank more than he should have. And that was it: his attraction to men was the result of a night of drinking, but he was completely sober when he fell in love with Roger.

He felt the room spin and spin, then closed his eyes and tried to sleep. But the image of his fate would not let him rest, he was there with blond hair, blue eyes and a perfect smile. But Roger was straight, and even if he was not, he would never fall in love with someone like Brian. And then he felt the phantom pain of a giant hand touching his face because he should be a man and stop acting like a little girl, and then Brian decided it was much easier to drown in all that feeling of hurt and despair and give up.

And then, when he could not hold himself back, he let out a pained cry leave his throat. It looked like an earthquake, made his bed, the walls, the furniture, the whole world shake, but nothing happened. And then he screamed again, and this time it had an iron taste and was wet, and only then did he realize that he was biting his lips hard enough to make a cut. It was not long before the door to his room was opened and a concerned Freddie appeared.

— Is everything okay, Bri? — Freddie was well aware that when his friend was in that state, any careless touch could be the spark of a fire, and he could not bear to see Brian so bruised.

— No. — He tried to whisper, but screamed. — Are we alone? — He managed to speak in a softer tone.

— Roger's out to buy a cigarette, John's half an hour away. Can I sit with you? — Brian just nodded and relaxed. He could trust Freddie.

— I'm gay. — He waited for a laugh, a sound of contempt, a look of disappointment, even a slap or a punch. But he did not expect a kind and affectionate embrace. He did not expect to be accepted, and then he collapsed again.

— Oh, Brian, you talk like I didn’t know. — Freddie stroked his back. — I knew from the moment I saw you, Bri.

— You... you do not hate me? — He moved away slowly and wiped his tears, trying at all costs to look less stupid. He'd forgotten he was talking about Freddie: the guy who would love him above everything else and never judge him. But it was so easy to forget it when the pressure of those fingers and the force of those words still tormented his mind.

— Brian, are you out of your mind? _I’m_ gay, how can I hate you? — Freddie laughed and Brian felt light, laughing for the first time since waking. — I've been in a relationship for years, if you've forgotten. And I know you're not well now, so I'm going to improve your mood.

—Oh no. Improving the mood means going out for a drink until we don’t remember where the keys are, and then staying outside the apartment just to remember that it was not even locked in the first place. — Freddie chuckled as he remembered the last time they went to the pub nearby the apartment.

— John must be coming soon. Get ready, we'll leave as soon as he and Roger come back. — Freddie did not fail to notice how Brian cringed when the blond's name was mentioned, but he knew there was no reason to discuss it with his friend because that would make him more upset. Freddie was not stupid, he knew Brian was madly in love with Roger.

— But it's still early... — Brian stopped talking as he looked at the clock on the wall, noticing that ir was already 6pm. He did not realize he spent so much time in his own mind. Freddie had one of his winning smiles. — Ok, let's drink our weight in beer.

— You do not have to push your limits for us, okay? Only you need to get out of your bubble, even for just an hour. Now enough talk, I give you ten minutes to get ready. — Brian laughed and got out of bed.

∞∞∞∞∞

Going out to drink was a bad idea. First because Brian was still recovering from the events of the morning, second because Freddie and John decided to harass him all the time with questions only his mother asked, and third because a drunken Roger was a womanizer Roger — more than usual. Brian was counting, he would deny it until the end of his life if anyone asked, but he was counting. Five women in twenty minutes. Roger had flirted with five women in twenty minutes, and they all seemed happy to get his attention.

Brian did not have enough emotional stability to deal with a broken heart, not after so long suffering from it. He just wanted to forget Roger, forget that at all times of the day his only desire was to be with him, to hear his voice, to have his body around. He wanted to forget that he was bound to lose.

And then a fourth motive appeared on his list: Freddie was gone and he was alone with John. That was not a problem, because the two of them loved to talk and did get along very well, but that particular night John seemed to act like his nanny. He asked if he was okay, whether he was feeling anything, whether he was thirsty, whether he was dizzy, if he wanted to talk about his anxiety attacks. And as much as Brian wanted to open his heart to his friend, he knew that John did not deserve to deal with his emotional baggage.

At some point he stopped drinking and watched Roger. He had not stopped to talk to Brian, Freddie or John. And Brian blamed himself because he was a mess and because of him his other friends were stuck at a pub table talking about journalism rather than having fun. Why would Roger want to be around him?

John said something about his college, but Brian did not listen. He was lost looking at the blond dancing through the crowded hall. He was not aware of the surroundings, so he did not notice the group of men sitting at the next table. They were three tall blokes, not so much as Brian, but they were muscular and would intimidate anyone. Especially Brian, who despite being tall, was thin and delicate, and had very feminine features — such as long nose, thin eyebrows, long eyelashes, small waist, long hair — for others. He was wrong.

— Hey, fagot, this is not a gay bar. — Brian averted his eyes at the cursing, he was visibly startled, and this made the group laugh. And then he was back on the worst day of his life.

Brian hoped it was a dream, but it was not. And he knew that if he stayed in that pub for another minute, he would be doomed. Then he ran home, he did not care for the London rain that soaked his clothes and soaked his hair, he did not mind walking five blocks. The only thing he wanted was to forget the feel of those hands and feet and punches and kicks. But it was impossible, because he always had to relive that day when he heard some nasty comments.

Because it was wrong to like men, and it was wrong to be feminine, and of course the perfect Brian did not want to be wrong. And when he came into his room and threw himself on the bed — wet — he tried not to think about how to stop being wrong. Freddie and John had accepted, his parents too, so why could not he himself? He tried not to think about how he'd gotten past the guilt the last time.

He should not have felt those things for his childhood friend, and after he had been caught and verbally and physically assaulted, there was no choice. So, as he ran his hands over his injured wrists and scarred legs, Brian could not stop. He cried out in pain, because he still felt the blows and because no one would hear, and then he cried, because he did not want to leave his friends, but he could not live with the guilt of having failed.

He took the razor that he left saved — _you are a failure, Brian, just get on with it, you go to sleep and everything will soon pass_ — because he was weak, and couldn’t manage to get rid of it — at least not without having to explain, so it was stored in the bottom drawer of his dresser. He pulled out his sleeve and started.

He screamed, because the pain was intense, even if he had tried to get accustomed, and screamed because he was suffering and felt the world was collapsing. Tears streamed freely because both his hands were occupied, and there was no one to help him — there was never anyone to help him. His breathing was short and painful, his chest rising and falling uncontrollably, his heart racing, his head spinning, and his throat ached from the screams. He was sure he was going to wake up the neighbors, but when they came to complain, they would only find a body sleeping.

Because darkness was better than rejection.

And because of the screams and the crying, he did not hear the doors opening and worried screams. And because of the tears, he did not notice that John was sitting in front of him, pushing the razor away from his arm and covering the cut with a cloth. Because of the dizziness, he did not notice Freddie hugging him tightly as he whispered words of comfort in his ear. And because of the pain, he did not notice that Roger was standing in the hall, not daring to enter the room and face him. Not because he was disappointed, but because he was afraid to see Brian all pale and lifeless — if he did not see him in that state, then he would be fine.

∞∞∞∞∞

Saturday morning was even worse. Because he was still alive, and now Freddie and John were in his room forcing him to drink tea when they could be enjoying themselves. And Roger had not said a word.

_Why would he want to talk to you?_

And then when his friends got up to remove the dirty dishes, Brian realized he was more desperate than he imagined, because the simple movement of one of them made his heart race and he was afraid. Because he was scared of his own mind, frightened of how everyone would react when he told his great secret, he was afraid of being treated the same way. And he was afraid of being abandoned.

— You almost gave me a heart attack. — John spoke softly when Freddie was out of the room because Brian had begged one of them to stay and never leave him. — I was afraid of losing you, Bri. You are my friend and I love you, I cannot live without you.

And then Brian started to cry, because feeling loved was more than he could ask for. And when John confessed that he did not want to lose him... however selfish he thought it was, Brian was glad to know he would be missed. And that he would be accepted by his friends even if he had scars, and even if sometimes — more common than he wished it were — he would succumb because of his fears.

And then he cried even more when John hugged him, because it was nice to have arms around him preventing anyone from doing any kind of harm to him. And when John walked away, there was no anger in his gaze, no pity. It was the same person as always, and Brian could not help but feel happy to be treated like the same Brian as always.

— I'm so sorry.

— It's not your fault, angel. — They did not notice that Freddie was back. — Sometimes dealing with things is difficult. But...

— You're going to find a psychologist. — John finished. — And we'll talk about it, as if it's a support group.

— Because we’ll never ever let our angel, Brian May, go through all this alone. — Brian could not speak, just nodded and smiled. And then his smile disappeared when he saw Roger standing, wondering whether or not to enter the room.

— I need to talk to Brian. Alone. — And then he panicked because Roger could only be there to say that he was upset that Brian looked at him with desire, and then finish his speech with "I'm leaving, and I do not want to see you ever again." He looked at Freddie and John in fear, hoping they would understand the pleading in his face and stay, but they left the room and closed the door. And as soon as they did, Brian felt a body crash against his and shake with loud sobs. — My God, Bri, I was so scared... when you went out in the rain... when I heard your screams... I thought...

Brian pulled Roger away slowly and looked at his face closely, and realized that he had a purple bruise on his left eye. And when Roger raised his hands to touch his face, he noticed that they were bandaged and trembled slightly. Roger had his hair loose, reaching his shoulders, a few strands attached to his forehead from sweat and some on his cheeks from tears, lips parted and red, and blue eyes looking at Brian as if he were the most important thing in the whole universe.

— What happened to you?

— I heard what that idiot said about you, I saw how scared you were and... I worked it out on my own. _Nobody_ talks like that to _anyone_ , especially to _you_. — He took a deep breath and wiped away his tears. — I got home after John, he ran after you. Freddie had been helping me, he's a good fighter. — Roger laughed. — And when we arrived, John was screaming your name and... you were screaming, and then Freddie was screaming, and I did not know what to do... because I was scared, Bri. Yesterday morning when... — He covered his face with his hands. — I love you so much, and I do not know what I would do if you died! I love you, Brian. I love you. — Brian could not believe it, it was all a dream, except it was not. Roger was in his arms saying that he loved him, and said with such passion that Brian felt small (in a good way). And then he cried too, because Roger was not angry and would not leave. Roger would never abandon him. — I want to punch the people who hurt you, Bri. All of them. And I want to take care of you, the way you've cared for me so many other times, and someday you'll be able to remember those... dark times and you'll be able to move on because we'll be together... — more tears fell, Roger rested his head on Brian's chest and listened to his heart and relaxed — and you'll get over it, and we'll learn to deal with it. And in the end, my love, you will be able to see yourself in the way I see you.

— _Rog_ — Roger shook his head as Brian choked on his own words.

— You do not have to talk, Bri, it's okay.

— _I love you._ — His voice was weak. Little. — _I love you. I love you. I love you_. — With each confession a new wave of tears fell (from both their eyes). — _Do not leave me. Please..._

— Brian, — he said seriously and held Brian's head in both hands so he could not look away — I'll just leave you when you ask me, okay? Other than that, I'll be on your side. Now lie down and rest, you must be exhausted. — Brian just nodded and did as he was told. Roger smiled and kissed his forehead, then his lips; he lay down next to Brian and wrapped his body in a tight but delicate hug. — I'll be here when you wake up.

Brian closed his eyes and felt hair falling on his face, hands caressing his back and slow breathing. He tried to hold back the tears, but he could not. Roger did not care. He heard footsteps in the hallway and heard Freddie's voice. " _We'll have to go out on a double date_ ", and then John and Roger's laughter. He managed not to think about how broken he was, how everything had a solution. It would take a long time to fully accept it, but it was not impossible. And he would have the help of three wonderful people, who would not judge him or avoid him.

For a few hours he managed to forget the pain and the sadness. He changed the weight that crushed his bones for the comfort of Roger's arms, and soon his limbs did not seem so large, his breathing was long, his chest did not ache, his heart beat at its normal pace, his mouth was not dry and he could only think about Roger. About how he said he loved him, and how he said they would be together. And when he woke up, Roger was there with a smile and a bruised eye. He was still there.

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know what else to say because it's been a long time since I wrote anything online :)


End file.
